Once a Holmes, Always a Holmes
by TheFandomBeforeBlood
Summary: Everyone has someone. A best friend, a girl friend, wife, husband. Sherlock was quite the opposite. He had no one. For such a long time he had no one in his life. Until he gained a younger sister. At first he thought she was annoying, rude, inconsiderate. But as she aged and matured Sherlock came to love Violet. Violet Holmes. There was no separating the two. Their favorite game to
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock sat on a small stool absently tapping his fingers on a short wooden desk. His boring beige room that he shared with mycroft was quiet and empty other then the curly haired boy, who was now bored beyond what anyone could comprehend.

He had just gotten out of school and immediately was bored out of his mind. As usual there was absolutely nothing to do. He heard Mycroft ranting to his parents. "You'll see when I get older I'll practically be the British government!" Mycroft angrily stomps into their room

"Get out" Sherlock frowns. "It's our room." Sherlock says not moving from his place near the desk.

"I said get out!" Sherlock gets up and walks out of the room upset that he had just been kicked out out of the room the two of them shared. He glanced at his parents. They were stressed, Sherlocks Father had lost his job. He could tell the way his Mother was taking her wedding ring on and off-a nervous habit. His Father was still at home when He had left for school. He could have been having a day off but that is highly unlikely considering how much he was sweating in the morning , it was no special occasion and let's just say Sherlocks father wasn't the best employee. Today was the day his parents were paying taxes as well, meaning they did not have the money for it. Sherlocks head shoots up as he hears the door open, knowing exactly who it was.

"Dad you should just start looking for jobs again." Came a young female voice from the kitchen. Violet. She had only just glanced at their parents and instantly knew, Sherlock wished he could be able to deduce things as quickly as Violet. The perky young girl with her brown curls in front of her blue eyes. bounced around the corner. He and Sherlock were nearly twins Sherlock pretended not to notice her but she knew better then that. "Lock?" She said sitting down on the couch next to Sherlock. "Deductions?" As soon as the words left her mouth Sherlocks head was up and he was smiling widely.

About every day for the two was like this. Until Violets 16th birthday.


	2. Chapter one: The Note

Chapter one: The Note

(Takes place duringThe great game)

"Gay." Sherlock said under his breath. Molly smile faded "sorry, What?" She asked.

"Nothing" Sherlock faked a small smile at jim. "Um, hey" he said.

Jim admiringly smiled at him. "Hey."

Jim lowered his hand into the metal tray knocking it to the ground.

"Sorry, sorry!" He said giggling nervously. He puts the tray back on the table as he wonders back toward Molly.

"Well I better be off, see you at the fox around six-ish?" He asks as he approaches the door.

"Yeah!" Molly says excitedly waving goodbye to him. Jim gazes toward Sherlock. "It was nice to meet you"

Sherlock ignored the man. "You too" John broke the silence. Jim shuffled out and left the building.

Molly turns to sherlock

"What do you mean gay were together."

Sherlock looked up at her.

"And domestic bliss must suit you Molly, you've put on three pound since I last saw you."

"Two and a half." she defended

"No, three"

"sherlock..." John warned.

"He's not gay why do you have to spoil...? He's not"

Sherlock snorted.

"With that level of personal grooming?"

John cut in. "Just because he puts product in his hair? I put product in my hair."

"You wash your hair. There's a difference. No-no - tinted eyelashes; clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear." Sherlock begins his deductions.

And just like every time he does his mind wonders towards Violet. If she were still alive what would his life be like now? He would never had met john. But he would rather have had Violet then john. She would have been able to deduct Jim much faster then he had.

"His underwhere?" Molly interrupted his thoughts. Sherlock snapped back to reality.

"Visible above the waistline - very visible; very particular brand."

Sherlock reached for the metal dish.

"That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here ..." He picked up the card Jim left underneath " ... and I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain.

Molly stopped and stared at Sherlock for a few moments. "Th-this came for you john, some woman dropped it off at the front desk." She said tears welling up in her eyes as she turns and runs out of the room.

"Charming well done" john says fiddling with the small envelop in his hand. It has an off white color to it-it looked almost aged with a red seal on it.

"I was saving her time isn't that kinder." Sherlock says

" 'Kinder?' No no Sherlock that wasn't kinder. " John is clearly annoyed with Sherlock. Sherlock, fed up with the conversation leans back and crosses his arms. "Well go on then" he says expectantly.

"What?" Sherlock let's out an exasperated sigh.

"Open the letter"

John nods his head.

"Oh, oh, right" he breaks the seal and pulls out an aged Piece of paper with Beautiful cursive writing on it in jet black ink.

"It says,

'To john haymich Watson and William Sherlock Scott Holmes. At exactly six will be at 221b , so make sure lock has on more then just a sheet, I do not want to make that mistake again.

Lots of love

~VH' "

Sherlock stopped dead.

"Sherlock? Who has the initials VH? What does that mean? Does she know you?"

"Not possible..." Sherlock muttered under his breath

"What's not possible?" He said

"Nothing...it's not..." He tailed off. Was this some type of cruel joke for mycrofts fun? Or maybe a prank of some sort. Yes. Must be. "back to the case. John what can you see about the trainers."

"Why so I can make a fool of myself?"

"A second opinion is useful to me"

"Yeah right"

"Go on then"

John mumbled negatively

"I dunno - they're just a pair of shoes. Trainers."

Sherlock nods

"Good"

"Umm ... they're in good nick. I'd say they were pretty new ... except the sole has been well-worn, so the owner must have had them for a while." john says unsure.

"Your on sparkling form,what else"

"Their quite big so a mans..."

"But..." Sherlock urges him to go on.

" But there's traces of a name inside in felt-tip. Adults don't write their names inside their shoes, so these belonged to a kid."

Sherlock looked at him proudly

"Excellent, what else?"

John looks at the shoes once more as Sherlock lets his mind wonder.

If Violet were here she would have caught everything and more. She probably could have said the height and the hair color of the boy who wore them. Maybe even the age.

"That's it" john gives up.

"That's it?"

"Yeah, how did I do?" He asks.

"Well john; really well" he paused.

"I mean, you missed almost everything of importance, but, um, you know ..."

Sherlock lifts his hand and slowly rotates his wrist to turn his palm up, his expression full of sarcasm. With a look of frustration, John picks up the trainer and gives it to him. Sherlock looks at it closely as he goes into his deduction mode.

"The owner loved these. Scrubbed them clean, whitened them where they got discoloured. Changed the laces three ... no, four times."

John puts his hands on the desk and lowers his head in despair.

"Even so, there are traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them, so he suffered from eczema. Shoes are well-worn, more so on the inside, which means the owner had weak arches. British-made, twenty years old."

"Twenty?" John says straightening up.

"There not retro-they're original." Sherlock showed john an image on his phone.

"Limited addition: two blue strips, nineteen eightly nine"

"But there's still mud on them. They look new."

"Someone's kept them that way. Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles. Analysis shows it's from Sussex, with London mud overlaying it."

"How do you know?" John asked skeptically.

Sherlock nodded to the computer screen. "Pollen clear as a map reference to me"

Two dots flash on a map of Britain, one around the borders of East and West Sussex and the other to the south-east of London.

"South of the river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind."

"So what happened to him?"john asked.

"Something bad" Sherlock looks up at john.

"He loved those shoes, remember. He'd never leave them filthy. Wouldn't leave them go unless he had to. So: a child with big feet gets ..."

He trails off, staring ahead of himself.

"Oh." Sherlock says softly.

John looks across the lab, trying to see what his friend is looking at.

"What?" John finally asks.

"Carl powers"

"Sorry who?"

"Carl powers, john" says Sherlock still looking in the distance.

"What is it?"

"It's where I began"

End of chapter two: the letter


	3. Chapter Two: Games

Chapter two: Games

Sherlock put his coat on in a rush walking up to 221b. Sherlock noticed john shivering slightly as the wind blew towards then. It was colder out then either of them had originally expected.

"Sherlock, what's that? On the door." Sherlock heard john call over the noise of the street and the whistling of the wind . Sherlock glanced at the small note on the door. It was not as Nicely written as the last one so it must have been done in a rush. It was placed here less then half on hour ago because the ink smudges haven't fully dried yet and it hadn't been blown away by the wind. John approached the letter and took off the small string attached to it that was being used to keep it hanging from the door.

" Sorry lock, got a bit tied up with work..literally. Ropes are extremely difficult to get out of. Don't you worry though you will be seeing me soon enough, you too john as I presume you will be the one reading this to lock.

Lots of love

VH" Sherlock hadn't moved from where he stood on the street.

"Sherlock who is VH?" He stood silent for a moment before his face became slightly red.

"There is no one with the initials VH! She is dead she is not alive! This is some trick or prank! Violet Holmes is dead! She died!" Sherlock snapped at john as he barged past him and into 221b. Sherlock roughly slammed the door behind him leaving john out side.

John stood on the street. Cold. Shocked. He glanced back down at the note reading it over and over again in his mind. She? He thought to him self. Maybe it's Sherlock's wife who faked her death or something crazy like that. That has to be it, Sherlocks wife.

He concluded his sad excuse for deductions as he opened the door to 222b and walked in. He bounded up the stairs-pausing before entering the flat. John saw something he never wanted to see. He saw something he never saw before. Something he thought was impossible-not capable of being done or happening. He saw

Sherlock Holmes

Crying

His pale blue eyes were glassy as tears spilled out of them. He faced the wall but john could see his reflection in the mirror.

"...Sherlock? What are you doing?" John asked hesitantly.

"Think-ing" Sherlocks voice cracked. He cleared his voice

"Thinking" he repeated more steadily this time. He wiped the tears from his face quickly and got up like Nothing had happened. If there's was one thing he was going to keep it was his dignity. Although his face was still red and stained with tears.

"Nineteen eighty-nine, a young kid - champion swimmer - came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool. Tragic accident."

Sherlock pulls up a photo of a the front page of a news paper.

"You wouldn't remember it. Why should you?"

"But you remember."

"Yes."

"Something fishy about it?"

"Nobody thought so - nobody except me. I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers."

"Started young, didn't you?"

Sherlock couldn't help but wince as all the memories of Violet came flooding back into his head. She was the one who showed him it in the news papers.

Sherlock could remember it like it was yesterday.

"Lock! lock, come look at this! Carl powers drowned!" Violet yelled from the living room as Sherlock approached her. "So? what about it?" Violet smiled.

"Can we go check it out, pleeeeeeeease!" She begged. "Fine" Sherlock grabbed his coat an headed out the door. The pool wasn't too far away from their house so they both decided to walk after Telling there parents they were going out. "What makes Carl powers so important?" Sherlock asked on their way down the road. "He was a great swimmer then all of a sudden he has a fit in the pool and drowns? Seems suspicious to me." she said looking down at the news paper an reading it over again. "I suppose but he could have just hit his head against the wall of the pool or something."

She looked up from the paper

"Once again trained swimmer" she said matter-of-factly. Sherlock rolled his eyes "yes, yes I know."

They arrived at the pool to see it was completely empty. The only sound that could be heard was the water Lapping at the edges of the pool. "I'll check around here, lock You go check his locker" she snickered. "Lock, check the LOCKer" Sherlock simply turned around at headed to the lockers ignoring her comment. He ran his hands across the metal until he came to the label that said in bold. 'Carl powers' he opened up the locker and began emptying out the contents. 'Shirt pants socks...' he listed in his mind.

'Socks. Sock and no shoes?' He thought.

"Vi!" He called out. Not a moment to soon Violet came running up to him soaking wet.

"Violet what did you do?" He asked starting at her. "I jumped in the pool" she said trying to catch her breath.

"Why in earth would you do that?!" He got up and held her shivering body close to him to warm her up.

"I wanted to see how easily I could drown." Sherlock took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders. "Well I found his shirt pants and socks in his locker but not his shoes."

Violet took a second. "No shoes?"

"No shoes" he repeated.

.

"The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out it was too late. But there was something wrong; something I couldn't get out of my head."

"What?" John asked sitting on the couch.

"His shoes."

"What about them?"

"They weren't there. I made a fuss; I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important. He'd left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes ..." Sherlock leaned down and picked up the bag containing the trainers. "Until now"

Sherlock shut himself in the kitchen and sat at the table with the trainers nearby - still in the bag - while he looks through photographs and printouts of newspaper reports of Carl Powers' death from 1989. In the living room, on the other side of the closed doors, John is pacing back and forth and finally stops and slides one of the doors open.

"Can I help?" John asks clearly annoyed.

Sherlock didn't react to him at all.

"I want to help there only three hours left" john said as his text alert rang. "It's your brother he's texting me now, how did he even get my number?"

"Must be a root canal." He said thoughtfully

Putting his phone away, John comes into the kitchen.

"Look, he did say 'national importance'."

Sherlock snorts, not looking up from his research.

"How quaint."

"What is?"

"You are. Queen and country".

"You can't just ignore it." John states sternly

"I'm not ignoring it. Putting my best man onto it right now."

"Right. Good.

He folds his arms and nods in satisfaction, then looks at Sherlock in puzzlement.

"Who's that?" John asks as Sherlock smiles.

Sherlock sat at home looking through his microscope. He had sent john out to meet mycroft for him although he didn't really care about the missing missile plans. Sherlock stood up abruptly and began pacing around the room. "How, how!?" He muttered angrily to him self. He had to figure this out. Who ever this was- and who ever had been leaving his notes was just trying to frustrate him make him upset and watch him fall apart It was working. "Agh!" He yelled as he roughly shoved the small coffee table over. "Where are you when I need you Violet!" He yelled at he sat back down in his chair letting the anger simmer down. He looked back into the microscope hoping that he could just burry himself in his work. Just like he always had. If he wasn't on a case he would be remembering-remembering thing he wanted so badly to forget. To forget the pain and the loneliness. But at the same time be didn't want to forget. He wanted to hang on to the shreds of memory he had of pleasant times. He snapped out of his thoughts noticing something that wasn't there before. "Poison." He muttered to him self. The door clicked as john walked in. "Poison." Sherlock said louder this time so john could hear.

"What?" John asked.

"Clostridium botulinum! It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!"

John stared at him blankly.

"Carl powers!"

"Oh, are you saying he was murdered?"

Sherlock stood up and walked over to where he had hung up the laces to the trainers.

"Remember the shoe laces?"

"Mmm" john nodded his head.

"The boy suffered from eczema. It'd be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns."

"What - how-how come the autopsy didn't pick that up?"

"It's virtually undetectable. Nobody would have been looking for it."

Sherlock walked over to where the flipped over coffee table was and picked the computer up from the ground.

"Sherlock why is the coffee table on the ground?" John asked setting it up right again. "I got frustrated"

"Of course you did"

Sherlock opened up the computer to his own website 'the science of deduction'

He began typing in the message box

'FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989).'

Sherlock points to the laces.

"But there were still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers from where he put the cream on his feet.

He bended down and continued to type

'Botulinum toxin still present. Apply 221b Baker St.'

He send the message and straightened up.

"That's why they had to go."

"So how do we let the bomber know ..."

"Get his attention ..."

"stop the clock."

"The killer kept the shoes all these years."

"Yes". He looks at John. "Meaning ..."

"He's out bomber" john concludes.

Little did they know of Violet standing in the street watching them. She carefully dialed the number on her phone- her hands shaking It rang for a few moments before it was answered.

"They solved it." She said simply.

End of chapter two: games


End file.
